


Lighters

by fallenkings



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Background Character Death, Gangsters, M/M, Permanent Injury, Police, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 14:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7980010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenkings/pseuds/fallenkings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is dedicated to Macbetha as a tribute to her amazing creation; Eyes Wide Open All the Time. This work contains spoilers to Eyes Wide Open All the Time so if you haven’t read it, then please do because it is amazing!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lighters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Macbetha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macbetha/gifts).



> For, the breathtakingly amazing writer, Macbetha ([archive of our own](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Macbetha) / [tumblr](http://im-macbetha.tumblr.com)). Thank you for giving me the permission to write this for you!
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys reading this little piece of my love for [Eyes Wide Open All the Time.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5768821/chapters/13293727) This takes place in the two month time skip mentioned in The Dynamite in My Chains.
> 
> This piece is written out of my own imagination on what might have happened during the untold two months and should not be mistaken as something that happened in the actual story nor am I claiming it to be. I apologize if there’s any errors in the story although I’ve done a lot of research and made sure to refer to Eyes Wide Open All the Time every two paragraphs, haha. 
> 
> There’s an original character in this fic that serves a minor supporting role, just in case anyone might get confused about them.

Time passes by in a blur yet somehow seems to drag on. The concept doesn’t make sense, he knows, but that’s the only explanation Haru has for it. He’s sitting on the porch of the cabin, eyes staring far out into the horizon where the ocean meets the brightening sky, a lit cigarette between his fingers. It’s not until the first ray of sunlight peep over the murky darkness that Haru realizes he’s been up all night. He faintly recalls stumbling out through the sliding doors to perch himself on the porch after midnight, seeing that he had spent hours just tossing and turning in his bed unable to fall asleep because flashes of a kind smile and entrancing emerald eyes kept invading his mind every time he so much as shuts his eyes.

It’s been weeks, a month probably, since he’s last spoken to Makoto and that has somehow been the only thing circling his mind. Haru’s been consumed by this cold emptiness that he hasn’t felt in a while and his skin crawls and pricks uncomfortably at the familiar feeling. He’s hurting in a way that’s neither physically nor mentally but it makes his throat clamp up and his chest to constrict painfully nonetheless, causing him to lose his sense and concept of things around him.

It’s infuriating and distressing because everything is crashing down in flames all around him and he’s here barely registering it, already desensitized to it when it should have terrified and sickened him. People he’s known for years are suddenly in constant danger, disappearing without explanations, without a trace, only to be found in dumpsters behind alleys or washed up on shore days later, mangled and lifeless. Gang wars broke out more often as demands for relay begin to skyrocket and Haru has already lost count of the number of bullets he was forced to embed into someone’s chest in the past week to ensure his own survival.

He takes a long drag of the cigarette, the embers glowing red in the early morning light. His eyes are distant and lost to the darkest corners of his mind but the weight of the cigarette between his fingers ground him to reality. There is no searing hot pain on his flesh, no crackling laughter rebounding off the walls of a tiny house, only the calming ocean breeze caressing his bare arms and the distant sound of waves rolling onto shore.

Haru’s eyes water from the smoke in the air and he feels nauseous from the taste of nicotine on his tongue, burning in his throat, hot poison in his lungs. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyelids, feeling a migraine thrumming it’s way into his head which he is too enervated to deal with at the moment. A sudden click from behind had his systems hay wiring and all he can hear is static in his ears.

Haru spins around so quickly that his vision blurs around the edges and tastes bile on his tongue but he’s only met with Gou’s wide gaze and once again he remembers how to breathe. “Haru?”

“Do not breathe in the smoke. And close the door.” He stubs out the cigarette on the ground while Gou does as she’s told, however she’s still standing behind the glass door, looking forlorn until Rin appears to guide her into the kitchen for breakfast, looking every bit as exhausted as Haru feels.

The dark haired male slips into the cabin once he has his racing heart under control and locks the sliding door behind him. He hears the clanking of pans as Rin prepares pancakes in robotic precision that comes from relying on muscle memory. Gou is seated at the table, hugging the kitten in her arms as she stares in concern at her brother who’s being uncharacteristically silent. Once they’re done eating, Rin goes to drop Gou off at school and Haru’s left to drink coffee alone in the kitchen, nursing a migraine.

He received a text from Miho for a delivery later today and that’s the last thing he wanted to think about. Haru stares emptily at the opposite wall, wondering when this nightmare encasing him will ever end. In the darkness of his mind, he distinctly remembers seeing flashes of bright green eyes, warm, accepting and guarded behind a pair of glasses. Haru is torn between letting himself feel at ease with the mere thought of Makoto or banishing the illusional presence of the man from his mind completely.

 

* * *

 

The burning pain reaches him through the heavy fog of his prescription medication, like a hot knife diving straight into his abdomen and jostles him from sleep. Makoto wakes, grinding his teeth together to cage in the scream that builds from his leg, erupts in his chest and dies in his throat, before he tips his head back into the damp pillow, whimpering and holding back tears. He alternates between taking deep breaths and thirsty gasps in an attempt to get through the hot flashes that’s wrecking through his body.

 _It’s nothing_ , Makoto reminds himself as he continues to fill the room with wrenched grunts and broken whimpers. It’s just the inflamed neuromas sending anomalous signals to his brain. _I’m not really in pain_ , he repeats over and over again in his mind but he still feels it all the way in his bones and soul. He ends up sobbing and he feels repentant and pathetic because this is once again another example of something being completely beyond his control.

The pain of his phantom limb subsides after an hour and Makoto is left worn out and delirious. He’s too weak and exhausted to get his medications, but he’s still heaving with sobs because he can _feel_ the tingle of his leg below the stump of his right limb as if it’s _still there_ , as if he had never lost it in the first place, when in all reality he can see that there’s nothing stretching out after the hideous stump.

He doesn’t remember drifting back to sleep but he does recall waking up because he heard something moving in his house. The door to his room is pushed open and Echo struts into the room, ears twitching and tail wagging. She must have squeezed in through the doggy door in the kitchen and Makoto huffs a weak chuckle because they both know that she’s too big for the door and she’s gotten stuck quite a handful of times but that doesn’t mean she’ll quit.

If a team of armed soldiers can’t stop her from getting through a minefield to Sousuke’s side, then something like this was definitely not going to stop her, and apparently she’s aware of it by the way she has her head tilted back in glowing arrogance.

Echo leaps onto the bed and slumps down next to him after she noses and licks at Makoto’s neck and face until he pushes her away. When she yawns, her four titanium fangs are visible and glistening in the weak afternoon light. She lays her heavy head onto his stomach because that’s how she sleeps with Sousuke and the teal-eyed male spoils her too much. Makoto is still too out of it to care that she’s already wetting a patch onto his t-shirt with her slobber.

“Are you here to keep me company, Coco?” Makoto coos and scratches at the area below her ear but she’s already fast asleep in under three seconds and he’s left to the silence of his room once again, thinking about blue eyes hiding behind a curtain of dark raven locks before he catches himself mid thought and redirects his attention else where.

Makoto goes through the mindful breathing exercises that his therapists suggests he does once every few hours or whenever he just had a panic attack or PLP. Sixty breaths, in and out, in and out. As he breathes, he brushes his fingers through Echo’s coat and finds himself feeling drowsy again. Makoto faintly registers the familiar ring tone blaring from his phone but he doesn’t want to deal with anything or anyone at the moment and tries to ease himself into another nap.

However the insistent ringing of his phone makes it impossible to slip back to slumber and apparently Echo has had enough of Lady Gaga too for she springs out of the bed with a low growl and throttles out of his room. Makoto silences the device and stuffs it into the top drawer of the bedside table, next to a spare hearing aid and empty prescription bottles that tumbles around in the drawer when he slams it shut.

He’ll feel bad about ignoring Nagisa later but right now he doesn’t want to deal with anyone. He knows Nagisa means well, of course he does, but there are some things that others can’t help him get through with. Even his local therapists had said so. There are some struggles that he just has to deal with alone, which is easier said than done.

It’s late afternoon on a Saturday. Makoto had spent hours in bed, napping, scrolling through adorable pictures of alpacas, passing out in pain and crying. He supposes that it’s time to pull himself together and get out of bed. He feels lethargic, the world spun around him when he sat up too fast. Once the world centers itself once more, Makoto blindly fishes for the crutches under his bed. He hates the crutches more than the prosthetic limb but his stump is too inflamed for him to possibly fit so he has no other choice but to use them.

The presence of the crutches under his arms bring forth another surge of helplessness that choked him and made him feel overwhelmed by his handicap. He has to remind himself that there’s no one to see him so weak, so vulnerable, so _incapable_ , but himself. And that’s the only reason why Makoto’s able to lift himself out of bed and carry on with another day. One step at a time.

 

* * *

 

It had been a bad idea. A very bad one that Sousuke doesn’t want to think about, but Echo’s looking at him with her judgmental eyes and he can feel the disappointment she felt for him oozing out of her very pores. Being the organism with the higher intellect and morale high grounds, Sousuke chooses to ignore his best friend in favor of securing his shoulder brace while trying not to wince at the blinding pain that sears through the appendage.

Echo whines at him and he growls back. “Shut up. I don’t need to hear it from you.” Yes, he’s talking to his dog. And no, he isn’t imagining the way she raises a deprecating eyebrow at him. “I got an earful from Seijurou earlier so I don’t need you to tell me how stupid I was because I already know.” Echo snorts.

Sousuke decides to ignore that act of disrespect, mentally reminding himself to deprive Echo of her Nesbits until she apologizes, and tenderly sinks back into the couch with a pained hiss escaping through clenched teeth.

He is sore from chasing down one of the suspects for their investigation earlier this afternoon. He had ducked in and out of narrow alleyways, dodged trashcans tossed at him and threw himself over one rooftop to the other, only to land at an awkward angle and added excessive amount of stress onto his bad shoulder in the process. He’s lucky he didn’t tear a ligament or else it would have taken him a couple of weeks to heal up.

The suspect was a lanky male from an unnamed gang that couldn’t have been two years older than Ren and Ran, which was probably the reason why he had been so insistent on catching him when Momo had unintentionally let him out of his sights — when Sousuke had _specifically_ given him orders to never leave the suspect’s side while he radios the station — but Momo’s existence is proven to only give him hell.

Which brings him to his current predicament. Because of his damn shoulder acting up, Sousuke is ordered to call it a day and return home when he should’ve been still at the station, interrogating the few suspects they had dragged back to the station or jumping into a rain of bullets to break up a gang fight, not staying at home with his dog.

Echo seems to have had enough of his sulkiness because she slinks out of the sliding door to the garden, either to relieve herself or to mooch off Makoto, without another glance thrown his way. The dark haired male spends another hour cursing at his shoulder while he attempts, emphasizes on the word attempt, to make a decent snack for himself when his phone blares to life. The one for work.

Sousuke tears through the house to get to the phone vibrating on the coffee table and manages to answer it on the third ring. “Sergeant Yamazaki speaking.”

“ _We have good news and bad news,_ ” Seijurou says in greeting once the connection was set. “ _The good news is, we finally got the funding to run autopsies on the recent bodies of the dealers we found in the alley a few blocks from Samezuka._ ”

Sousuke sighs in relief but doesn’t spare a second to let himself rejoice in their small victory. “What’s the bad news then?”

“ _One of the suspects we had in holding was released a few hours ago. We just got a report that he was gun downed at a park a couple of miles from the station. Died at the scene. We have eyewitnesses stating that it was two males but nobody managed to get a visual on their faces because they were wearing masks. Didn’t even use silencers._ ”

“Shit.” Sousuke says, staring at the coffee stain on the table with narrowed eyes. “ _Shit._ ”

“ _Shit is right. Corro is pissed off because things are getting out of hand and we can’t release any more suspects since they might be targeted too. We’re trying to track down the gunmen right this second but without a solid lead we can’t do a fucking thing._ ” Seijurou sounds frustrated, his tone hostile.

Sousuke sucks in a deep breath, the pain in his shoulder momentarily forgotten. “Was the suspect shot in a rivalry gang with any of the other suspects in holding?”

“ _You think a rival gang shot the suspect as a threat because we’re holding one of their own?_ ”

He sighs into the mouthpiece, gripping a fistful of dark hair. “Maybe. I’m not saying with confirmation that’s what this is but it looks like it.” He pauses, works his jaw then curses into the empty living room. “Or maybe someone is trying to shut them up before they can tell us anything.”

“ _Shit._ ” Seijurou sounds exhausted. “ _Something bigger is definitely at play if they’re willing to shoot someone in broad daylight._ ”

Things are getting out of hands and if they don’t think of something to gain control, more incidents like this are going to happen and there would be nothing they could do. The thought of Rin has Sousuke’s heart racing with adrenaline and fear. Where is he? Is he okay? Had the suspect that was shot been one of their friends? Or was Rin one of the gunmen that killed him?

Sousuke tries not to dwell on that unsettling thought. He opens his mouth to ask Seijurou about the other suspects in holding when the other man beats him to it. “ _Did the rentboy tell you anything?_ ”

He swallows, sharp teal eyes hardening into a glare at the coffee table. “No.”

It’s silent on the other line. Seijurou is probably trying to figure out whether he was telling the truth or not. A beat later he says, “ _We’re a team, Sousuke. I’m not saying I don’t trust you—_ ” Sousuke grits his teeth. “ _But if he contacts you about anything,_ anything _, you have to let me know, alright? You wanted this case to happen and I helped made it happen, so we’re in this together, whether you like it or not._ ” Seijurou sounds tired, like he’s barely holding himself together.

Sousuke has half a mind to count the hours the older male has been on the clock but before he can get a solid number down, the urgency in Seijurou’s voice breaks his concentration.

“ _I have to go now. No one can know that I told you about what happened today. We clear?_ ”

“Crystal.” Sousuke answers curtly.

Their call ended and Sousuke is left with the daunting reminder that this is something bigger than him, bigger than them. And now that they’ve set the ball in motion, nothing can stop it and for the first time since he’s set his mind to it, Sousuke is truly and utterly terrified.

 

* * *

 

Rin explodes out of the exit of the motel after a job and almost has a panic attack at the figure waiting outside before he recognizes the man. The red-head sighs, dragging a hand through his messy hair as he steps out into the dying day light, gracing the man with his worst glare.

“I don’t need an escort.” He snipes, not looking at him. “I didn’t need it before shit went down in hell and I certainly don’t need it now.”

Hibiki looks up from his phone to acknowledge his outburst, eyes and face lacking emotion. “I walked Aki and Chigusa here earlier, so I thought I’d wait for your hour to be up and walk you back to Samezuka.” Rin opens his mouth to argue but the man recognizes it and cuts him to it. “Haru would feel better if you let me walk you back.”

Rin grunts. Normally he would bark out a protest about how Hibiki can’t guilt trip him with his Haru card but he’s too exhausted right now to put up a fight and lets the man walk with him out of the narrow alley and towards the streets of the red light district. The motel he spent an hour in with a client is only a few blocks away from Samezuka, like every other motels located in the district were. It barely takes them ten minutes to make it back on foot but with the recent aggressions and attacks happening because of the relay, every rentboy, callgirl and dealer has to have at least a partner or an armed escort with them to travel.

It’s a precaution Haru has come up with to keep everyone safer in numbers but the plan still proofs to be futile because in the past two weeks a rentboy from Samezuka was found dead a few blocks away in a dingy club, two dealers were shot with their drug supplies robbed, and a handful of callgirls went missing only to be found in dumpsters and public restrooms. This doesn’t seem to deter Miho away from giving them more jobs to do while she hides away in one of her houses like the motherfucking witch she is.

Rin walks with brisk steps, wearing a scowl and glaring at his steel-toed boots. He’s been in a horrendous mood all day, and the mood dampens even more after seeing Hibiki. The sight of the male conjures up the one thing that he’s been forcing out of his mind for weeks and there’s nothing he can do once the dam breaks and repressed memories and emotions come flooding back in.

Rin can still feel Sousuke’s warm hands cupping his face, so tenderly in the backdrop of Samezuka like he was afraid that Rin would shatter to pieces in his hands if he wasn’t careful. But he refuses to remember the sensation it brought to his heart because Hibiki is the living example of why he had to ask Sousuke to leave and forget everything about the whole relay case.

Nothing good can come out of Sousuke trying to play the hero to save them and Rin isn’t going to risk the policeman’s life for a war that they can’t guarantee they can win. Rin glances at Hibiki and he’s reminded of the impossibility of their hopes to change anything in this rotten, drug ridden city.

Hibiki reeks of cigarette smoke and antiseptic, the pungent smell piercing through the scent of Rin’s body wash from his recent shower. Rin doesn’t need to look to know that the taller male is wounded somewhere but he doesn’t ask. It’s clear that his escort hasn’t been taking care of himself, his overgrown roots a dark contrast against his silver hair and he has dark shadows under his eyes like he hasn’t been sleeping.

It’s a given with how chaotic things has been lately but Hibiki always takes it harder on himself whenever something happens, punishing himself for things he didn’t do — things that he’s convinced he could have prevented. Rin doesn’t want the same for Sousuke. He doesn’t want the teal-eyed male’s fate to end up like Hibiki’s, a dead end with no where to run from the impending jaws of a painful, gruesome death.

Rin can’t let Sousuke sacrifice himself just because he wanted to save people, to end the war, because he’ll end up becoming just another casualty among dead souls that didn’t change a single thing despite trying his hardest.

Rin is ashamed of that thought because this is not who he is. He’s not a quitter. He’s a fighter, just like his father had raised him to be.

He had fought hard to preserve the burning flame inside of him, even through the abuse that his mother had put him through. The flame of hope is still lighting his way despite the hell Miho had created for him so shouldn’t that say something about the kind of person he is?

How many friends has he lost in the recent weeks? Too many that Rin doesn’t want to think about yet deep down he knows he can’t keep ignoring them and hope that one day all of this will just go away and they can resume their lives like rats trying to survive on whatever they can salvage from the garbage.

He can almost hear his father’s voice in his head, screaming at him, asking him when _enough is enough?_   When will he fight back? How many more innocent deaths is he allowing to happen before he’s willing to face the music and retaliate?

He freezes in the tunnel that leads to the hidden garden behind Samezuka, hot tears brimming his eyes at the thought of his dad. Something has to change for this to end, but how? Will letting Sousuke and the police carry out their investigation help in any way? Will they be able to stop the wreckage that’s boiling out of proportion and put a stop to this constant pain and suffering? Or will things just end up worse?

These are questions that Rin can’t ask Haru or the others. His friends look up to him as much as they look to Haru for solutions and that’s terrifying. Haru’s got enough on his plate dealing with Miho and maintaining a sort of temporary peace among Freebird by keeping them out of the loop of what’s really going on, but that tactic can only last so long before the brutal truth shows itself.

This is something too big and out of Rin’s comprehension for him to find the answer to, and unfortunately he doesn’t have forever to figure it out. “What would you do?” The words leave Rin’s lips before he can stop himself.

Hibiki looks at him over his shoulder, the dim light casting shadows across his profile. He doesn’t prod him, which Rin takes it as his cue to continue.

“What if you have a choice to stop something from happening, but you’re not sure if it’s the choice you should make, yet you know that if you don’t _do something_ more people are going to suffer because you _should have_ done something about it?” Rin’s voice is small, shaky, barely a whisper but Hibiki tenses up when he hears them.

“I’ll choose the right thing to do.”

It sounds so much like something his father would say, something _Sousuke_ , the thick headed law enforcer who gave him a chance, would say, that Rin doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry. His emotions decide for him, tears painting wet trails down his cheeks as he wraps his arms around himself.

“Is that what you did? When you chose to go undercover?” Hibiki’s eyes widen and a flurry of emotions that he keeps bottled away flashes across his face all at once. “Is that why you’re still fighting for us even when you’re trapped too?”

He looks years younger and his face is contorted in pain, a look that Rin is accustomed to because he sees it on himself every time he looks in the mirror.

The silver haired male turns to face him and Rin is suddenly terrified because Hibiki looks exactly the way he looked three years ago, the night that Rin and Haru had overheard his conversation with a man that they later learned to be his partner, _his law enforcer partner_ , eyes livid like he’s about to shoot someone when he found out that they’re letting him drown. Betrayed. Broken. _Dead_. There’s no other word to describe the look in his eyes.

But then he turns away, and his posture shows how ashamed and inadequate he feels, but something about the way he straightens his shoulders a heartbeat later tells Rin that even if things have become this way, Hibiki is still fighting and he should be too. In Hibiki’s silhouette he sees himself, he sees Haru, he sees what this war has done to people and what it will continue to do. He sees Gou’s future if he doesn’t do something, but he also sees the broken shadow of a young policeman trying to do the right thing in this ruined world.

Suddenly, Rin knows, deep down in his soul, the right path to take. It’s the only thing to do and he’s the one that has to make the choice, to persuade Haru and the other’s to go along with it. Rin still has a lot of thinking to do but the red-head knows the right decision to make. All he needs is to find the courage to pull it off and hope that he isn’t too late to change things.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I did some research on phantom limb pains or PLP because it’s something many amputees commonly suffer from. You can read more about phantom limb pains to better understand what Makoto went through in this story if you’re interested.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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